Where The Story Ends
by churrotana
Summary: "Because you're dead and I'm insane."


Five years.

It takes Puck exactly five whole years to muster up the courage to propose to her.

She easily replies with a smile and a whispered 'yes'.

—

She's happy.

Sure, the apartment isn't top notch quality like how her old home used to be, and fighting becomes a weekly routine between the engaged couple, but she's happy.

That's all that really mattered, right?

—

She's at the grocery store, piling up boxes of frozen Eggos inside her basket, when her phone starts to vibrate in her pocket. She's quick to assume it's Puck, calling to ask if she'll be home soon, so she answers at ease.

She almost drops everything when the sound of Quinn's light, angelic voice responding at the end of the line.

She doesn't understand why she is calling. They lost touch ever since the two graduated from McKinley.

Why now? Why today?

"Santana, it's Quinn," she hears her say.

She actually laughs for a moment.

"Fabray, it's been a while since I last heard from you," she says, balancing her cell phone between her ear and shoulder before starting to make her way over to the cashier.

"It has. How are you doing?"

"Great," she replies and pauses for a minute before continuing. "I'm engaged."

"Yeah? With who?"

"Puckerman."

"... _Oh_."

She's quick to notice the slight quiver in her tone and can't help but to smile proudly.

Because for once in her life, she knows that she was finally chosen over the great Quinn Fabray.

And you know what? It makes her feel valuable.

But now's really not the time to rub her relationship in her frenemy's face. She wants to know why she had decided to take it upon herself to call her up after all those years of nonexistent communication.

"I know you're probably wondering why I'm calling."

'_No shit, Sherlock_,' she wants to say but she doesn't. Instead, she murmurs an uninterested 'yeah' and waits for her to reply.

"I have bad news."

"Some douchebag knocked you up again?"

She knows it's a low move, but she couldn't help herself. She's been irritable this entire week and all she wants is for her to spit out whatever she had to say and disappear from her life. Again.

"It's Brittany."

This time she actually stops walking.

"I'm so sorry, Santana."

She hasn't heard _her_ name since the day she left Lima.

Left her.

"I only found out yesterday."

Sometimes, she remembers.

"She was in a car accident."

Sometimes, she dreams.

"She wasn't breathing by the time they found her."

Sometimes, it still hurts.

"San, she's gone."

—

She breaks up with Puck as soon as she steps foot inside their shitty apartment.

The look of confusion never abandons his face as she packs up all of her things and leaves.

She hops into the car and starts driving.

She doesn't know where to, but she refuses to stop.

She runs out of gas when she unconsciously arrives in Lima and the truth finally sinks in.

Brittany was dead.

—

She doesn't cry.

Not at the funeral; not when she's greeting her wet eyed mother who pulls her into a desperate, apologetic hug; not when Puck takes a seat next to her and entertwines their hands together; not when everyone from the glee club goes up to the front to read their speeches in tears; not when Rachel Berry sings, what's supposed to be a breathtaking solo, 'You Raise Me Up'.

Not even when they're burying her cold body under the ground.

She doesn't cry.

Couldn't.

Wouldn't.

—

Puck offers to stay with her that night. She sends him away and tells him that she'll be fine.

He clearly doesn't fall for her lie, but he leaves anyways.

She knows he's worried about her.

She doesn't care anymore.

—

The phone calls become a daily ritual. They're nothing new.

Quinn. Puck. Kurt. Rachel. Blaine. Sam. Blaine. Finn. Quinn. Puck. Kurt. Rachel. Blaine. Sam. Blaine. Finn. Quinn. Puck. Puck. Puck.

Sometimes she listens to the voice mails, but she never answers.

—

All she ever does is lie around in the motel room.

She can't think of anything else to do, so she just sleeps.

—

Kurt comes over a week later. To her surprise, she actually lets him in.

He heads straight to the living room, puts in The Notebook, and twirls around to look at her with a funny look on his face.

She curls up next to him and pretends to focus on the movie.

—

It evolves into an unspoken tradition.

He comes, watches the movie with her, then leaves.

They never talk.

—

One afternoon, he stops coming.

She's arched into the sofa, expecting him to barge into the motel room any minute now, but he doesn't.

So she waits.

She waits for an hour.

A day.

A week.

A month.

She waits until she finally loses faith.

—

The next day, she starts to see Brittany everywhere.

She could feel her heartbeat when she's trapping herself in the comfort of the sofa.

She could hear her laughter when she's trying her hardest to pull all of her attention on a comedy movie.

She could taste her cotton candy Lipsmackers when she darts her tongue out to moisturize her dry lips.

She could smell the scent of the vanilla perfume she was so fond of wafting up to her nose when she drags her eyes open to a new day.

She's dead, yet she's everywhere.

—

She finally picks up the phone and dials Puck's number.

It takes him a while to answer.

"San?"

"Hi."

She wonders why her voice is so raspy, and then she remembers that she hasn't actually spoken out loud for nearly five months now.

"Uh," he's definitely shocked and she contemplates on whether to feel sympathetic at how miserable he sounds or angry that he can't even mutter a proper reply to her greeting.

She clears her throat and waits (it seems like that's the only thing she's been able to do for a long ass time).

Five awkward minutes pass by and she opens her mouth to snap at him but stops when she hears a high pitched giggle in the background.

"You're not alone," she comments and sinks back down into the bed.

"It's been five months, San."

"Who is it?"

He won't answer, so she repeats her question again, making sure her tone sounded much more stable this time.

"Quinn Fabray," he tells her in a hushed tone.

She doesn't know what hurts more; her nails puncturing into the palm of her hand or her heart shattering into millions of uneven pieces.

She throws the phone across the room, and buries herself under the blankets.

—

"Quit playing with my hair."

She's sitting at the couch with her legs crossed Indian-style and her eyes glued intently at the blank screen in front of her.

_'Why? You love it when I play with your hair.'_

"You're not real."

She turns her head to look away from the blonde, who's sitting inches away from her, her eyes clouded with agony, and snaps her eyes shut.

_'Of course I'm real. Why else would I be here?'_

"Because you're dead and I'm insane."

When she opens her eyes, no one's there.

—

Quinn and Puck comes to visit her two days later and she's absolutely furious.

For the first time in months, she freaks out.

She yells and screams and kicks and punch and claw and yells some more.

They both leave the motel room with a scratched up cheek and a black eye.

—

She spends the next two months, trapped inside of her room in solitary.

She stops seeing Brittany.

—

Suddenly, she can't take it anymore.

Her head's buzzing and her claustrophobia is growing at an enormous rate.

So she runs.

—

Rachel finds the Latina's shivering body at the park the next morning and takes her home.

She's married to Finn and apparently have have billions of kids. It doesn't come as a surprise, but she says nothing. She just listens.

She cooks her a hot meal and stays with her until she made sure the brunette swallowed down the entire thing.

—

When Artie shows up at the door, she loses it.

She's screaming as he slowly rolls himself inside.

"You could've saved her, you fucking cripple! You could've done something!"

He accepts the slap like a man, because he knows she's on the edge; she's broken.

"You killed Brittany. All of you fuckers killed Brittany."

"Santana, you're crying."

"I hope you all rot in hell. Every single one of you."

"San…"

"Shut the fuck up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

He's looking up at her with this disgustingly despairing expression on his face and it's only adding fuel to the fire. She brings up a hand to touch her damp cheeks and _laughs_.

That's when he tosses himself out of the chair and leaps onto her, causing them both to topple over.

By the time they're on the ground, she's in hysterical tears and he caresses down her hair and whispers reassuring bullshit into her ear. And somehow, she tricks herself into believing it.

She falls asleep with her head nuzzled on his chest, tear marks streaming down her face and at last, she feels relieved.

—

She could feel everyone's eyes staring down at her as she lies weakly on the hospital bed.

She can't remember why or how she got here, but from the look on Puck's face, she was almost too positive that time was ticking too fast.

"San," he meekly whispers and squeezes her hand tightly.

"… Hm?"

Her voice comes out as barely a murmur, but at least it's something.

"You can let go now."

She doesn't reply.

For the first time in a long time, she smiles.

It's fragile; it's faint; it's wasted; it's debilitated.

But it's still a smile.

And with that, she takes her last breath.

—

When she opens her eyes, Brittany comes into view.

"C'mere, San! It's so pretty here!"

The corner of her lips tugs upwards as she links pinkies with the blonde and follows her into the clouds.

She was finally _free_.


End file.
